It's Just A Booty Call
by BipolarMolar
Summary: Inspired by a prompt on a Good Omens kinkmeme. Aziraphale accidentally pocket dials Crowley, but gets his wires crossed and tells Crowley it's a booty call. Of course, Crowley can't believe his luck and rushes over there at once. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Crowley had gifted him with a new telephone. Unlike his trusty bakelite, this one was small and light grey, a mobile phone like the humans had. The screen was glass, and when he touched it, it illuminated. Crowley had informed him it was made by someone called Sam Sung.

"I didn't want to get you Apple. All the trouble that had caused!" Crowley had said, grinning. Sometimes, the things he said flew right over Aziraphale's head. He didn't mind though - Crowley never questioned his intelligence. And no matter what Crowley was saying, whether it was a rant about traffic or a silly impression of Gabriel, whether he was smiling or frowning, Aziraphale always paid attention. This wasn't a difficult thing to do, because Crowley instinctively commanded attention, no matter what he was saying or doing. Aziraphale liked listening to him, looking at him. Long evenings, mind heavy under the fog of wine, he'd listen, rapt, let his eyes travel across those white, jagged planes of flesh, a sharp jaw shadowed with stubble, the rich gold eyes, the flame-red hair. Something about him was so captivating. He was like a living portrait.

He appreciated the gesture and he supposed it was time to adapt to this new technology, but goodness, the phone was so bothersome. So complicated, so many different features to it. And the screen was too sensitive, he kept triggering it without meaning to.

As it stood, he currently had forty-eight photographs in the phone's gallery, all of his ear. Somehow, he kept activating the camera when attempting to call. A camera in a telephone. Really, humans were so clever. He liked the gesture and he very much liked the prospect of being able to contact Crowley wherever he was (especially since the good old red phone booths were so rare nowadays) but he was honestly struggling to use the phone. And, not that he'd admit it, his ignorance regarding this piece of technology made him feel a little foolish.

He was dusting the shelves that housed the Dickens novels when he heard a familiar voice. _Crowley._ He spun around, but there was no auburn hair or supercilious smirk to greet him. Strangely, the sound seemed to be emanating from his own trousers. Aziraphale caught sight of the glowing rectangle of light, roughly where his pocket would be. Oh, that silly phone, he'd called Crowley without meaning to.

"Angel? Angel, you there?" Crowley's muffled voice didn't sound too irritated, thank heavens. Hopefully, he hadn't been kept on the line too long.

He fumbled with the phone, seeing his dear friend's name flash on the screen. Such a simple word filled him with such joy. "Oh, Crowley, I _am_ sorry about that. I'm using the phone you got me! I believe this is what you'd call a - uh, a booty call?"

Crowley made a disbelieving sound. Sort of a cross between a gasp and a snort. "A...booty call? Really?"

"Blasted phone. What's it doing now?" Aziraphale squinted at the screen. Somehow, his touch had conjured up something called Goggle, but instead of advertising eyewear, it was informing him it was Uruguay Independence Day. Well, that was good news for Uruguay, but it didn't help him with his phone problem. Good thing, he had a tech-savvy demon at his disposal.

He swiped distractedly and spoke louder."Isn't that what the humans call it? I was hoping you could help me out with it, actually."

"Help you?" Crowley squeaked. Aziraphale pressed the phone closer to his ear. He hadn't believed his demon amigo capable of making such a sound.

"Yes, it's been frustrating me, I'm getting quite hot and bothered, I can tell you. Oh, it makes me feel so embarrassed."

"You don't need to feel embarrassed," Crowley said quickly. There was a loud slamming sound, possibly his car door. "Look, I'm coming over now, I'll help you out, don't - just stay there, okay? I'll be right over - actually, do you need me to bring anything?"

"Well, if you're planning on dropping by, some wine would be nice."

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea. It'll...help."

Aziraphale wasn't sure how inebriation would help his technological issues - although it would cheer him up, he supposed. "Alrighty, you pick out a nice vintage, pop over here and we'll put our heads together. Pip-pip."


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley walked in the bookshop, and that itself was enough to make the angel cock an eyebrow. Walk, not swagger or saunter or even stagger. Crowley walked in, quickly, stiffly, one hand curled around a bottle of wine as if fearing it would be taken from him, and the other hand swinging a white plastic carrier bag.

"Ah, excellent. That looks like a good bottle."

"Uh, let's cut to the chase. Sorry, I just - angel, how are we going to do this?"

"Do you want to come in the back?" Aziraphale gestured to the direction of the backrooms.

Crowley nodded silently, allowing Aziraphale to sweep past him to lock the door and flip the door's sign to closed.

Crowley poured them both a drink, leaving his friend to wonder why the demon's hands were shaking.

"I need...as much alcohol as I can fit in this body." Crowley said quietly, after he'd downed his glass in one go. "And I'm not planning to sober up tonight. Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course, if you want to."

They worked their way through the bottle, and it was quite an amicable time, although Crowley was being uncharacteristically quiet, letting Aziraphale ramble on about the latest books he'd got in.

At some point in the evening, Crowley seemed to tire of the conversation or perhaps he wanted to help with the phone while he wasn't too drunk. He sat forward, placing his hands on his knees. "Now, you mentioned, uh, putting our _heads _together, so I'm wondering what...what parts you want." 

Aziraphale sighed, turning the little metal box over in his hands. First the charger, then the headphones, the battery, the SIM card...why did everything need to be so complicated with humans? "I need additional parts? Can't I just work with the ones I've got currently?" 

Crowley's gaze dropped to the angel's waistband. "Sure, if you want. I'm flexible."

"Excellent. I really don't know, Crowley. The humans make it look so simple." 

Crowley was sympathetic. "They don't have much more idea than us, you know. Although, they have been doing it for longer."

"I suppose that's true," Aziraphale set the phone on the coffee table between them and sat back. "You can have a go now, if you want. Get stuck in." 

Crowley blinked. "Just like that? Okay…" He stood, shrugging off his jacket, and threw it on the sofa. "Maybe you should take some layers off. You'll be more...comfortable, that way."

Aziraphale shrugged. He was feeling warm, now he thought about it. The wine had taken hold of his body, leaving him with a pleasantly flushed feeling that made him want to burrow under a mountain of pillows. Alcohol, another fine invention. It wouldn't surprise him if Crowley had taken credit for that as well. He shucked out of his jacket, hesitated, and then bid goodbye to the waistcoat as well.

"I think the problem I'm having with this phone is...uh…" What problem was he having again? He'd surely be able to recall it if he was sober. But then, Crowley wasn't planning to sober up, himself. Aziraphale didn't like to be the only sober one, it seemed impolite somehow.

The light on his glass cast a pretty glow and his eyes sought it out, turning the glass this way and that. He didn't notice Crowley rising to his feet and circling the sofa, until he gently placed a hand on either of the angel's shoulders.

"You're tense, angel. I can fix that. If you want."

"I'm not tense, I feel rather lovely actually...ooh…" Crowley's fingers were gently kneading the meat of his shoulders, in a repetitive rhythm that made him slump back into the cushions, eyes falling shut. How was he able to manipulate flesh like that, those deceptively bony fingers unlocking tension Aziraphale hadn't even realised he was carrying. "Mm, that's nice but you need to stop, I fear that will send me into a slumber!"

"You don't sleep," Crowley remarked, although he heeded the request and withdrew.

"Yes, but there's a first time for everything. And I want to be alert," he pulled himself up, lurching a little, reaching for his phone again. Why did Crowley have to bring wine? They weren't going to be clear-headed enough to deal with this. He struggled to his feet, swaying slightly, under the headiness of the wine.

"Can I make myself more comfortable?" he heard Crowley ask from somewhere behind him.

"Of course," Aziraphale said. He wasn't having much luck with his phone, although he did see Crowley's face behind him, reflected on the tiny black screen. The next thing he knew, warm arms were encircling him from behind, pulling him against a hard body, narrow hip bones digging into him. He twisted around. "Crowley?"

"Shhh…" his friend whispered, his breath soft in Aziraphale's ear.

He turned around and walked right into a kiss.

His brain seemed to have frozen, thoughts were taking longer to form and be processed. _Kissing...lips...Crowley's lips...Crowley's eyeshairteethlips...Crowley was kissing him..._

It was only when his hands landed on the flesh instead of fabric, that he noticed Crowley was shirtless. He looked down, disbelievingly at the pale chest, white and unmarked, smattered with small ginger curls. An instinctive glance downwards informed him the demon was not only shirtless but quite naked. He reared back, suddenly caged in by Crowley's arms around his waist.

"Crowl-mmf!" he squeaked, voice suddenly muffled by the demon's lips. Oh heavens. There was that forked tongue pushing at his lips, Aziraphale gasped, lips falling open just wide enough for the tongue to work its way in.

_Crowley must have been tired of waiting for me to catch up,_ he thought, dazed by the smell of musky aftershave and the twisting tongue exploring his mouth.

He clung to Crowley's back, straining up into the kiss, hardly able to dare something like this was happening. Crowley, brave, beautiful Crowley, bless every black mark on his soul and every feather on his body, he had finally snapped, arched against their awkward dance of friendship and taken hold of something tangible, was grasping it, was grasping _Aziraphale _and oh,how he loved him for his bravery.

Crowley was leading him, he realised, back to the sofa, walking Aziraphale backwards until his shins came into contact with and then gave him a little push so he fell down, in a seated position. He wondered if Crowley was going to sit beside him, like friends do, or perhaps sit on his lap like lovers do, but instead, Crowley shot him a little grin and sank to his knees. Pushed Aziraphale's legs apart with no hesitation and reached for his fly.

Any apprehension he might have felt, seeing those pale hands and thin fingers, twitching like spider legs as they reached for his flesh was eradicated by the sight of the beautiful golden eyes. Watching him, seeing him, staring down at Aziraphale's offering with such adoration, a softness on Crowley's face that the angel had never seen before.

Aziraphale had never given much thought to his Effort, it was all part and parcel of disguising himself as a human, but the way Crowley cupped his length and gazed down at it was almost reverent. Crowley bent down, until all Aziraphale saw was the top of the auburn head and then there was warmth.

Such a wet, slippery warmth, sliding up and down him, moving so perfectly, so seamlessly, he responded instinctively, pushing into the heat and was rewarded with a powerful lick of the tongue. He was so greedy, so selfish to sit here and twist with pleasure while Crowley serviced him, but Crowley didn't seem to mind at all, in fact, to Aziraphale's ears, the demon was making more sounds than he was, a wet, sloppy sucking, and grunts of pleasure.

_Do snakes have a gag reflex? _He wondered. The answer came to him a moment later, when Crowley engulfed him, that hot cavernous mouth drinking him in, a wide, flat tongue massaging the underside of his cock while the throat convulsed around the length of him. Crowley moaned, a deep sound of appreciation, his nose bumping Aziraphale's public bone.

All he could do was tremble, twitch in Crowley's gasp, sweating and shaking and letting himself be pleasured by a mouth that knew how to undo a person.

Crowley pulled off, leaving Aziraphale's cock wet and throbbing. He wasn't proud of the mewling sound of protest he made, but then, Crowley was rising up to his full height, towering over Aziraphale's seated form and throwing one leg over the angel's hip and seating himself on his lap.

Then there was pressure on his cock, a tightness that was powerful but not unpleasant. He cracked his eyes open to see Crowley lowering himself down on Aziraphale's crotch. That thin mouth was opened in an O, lips trembling like petals as he sank down onto Aziraphale's length. Crowley took him to the hilt, not stopping until he was sat fully on Aziraphale's cock, hot thighs wrapped around Aziraphale's waist. Some sort of lubricant, thick and oily, dripped heavily onto the angel's thighs, leaking out from Crowley's hole.

Aziraphale fumbled, sweaty hands gripping Crowley's hips, kissing the rough skin of Crowley's jaw, stubble scratching his lips. How many lips had kissed this skin? The thought wasn't enough to bring him out of his pleasure but it did sour his mouth; he licked a stripe up Crowley's neck, tasting something metallic and earthy that dissolved the sudden spurt of jealousy.

"Mine," he muttered, fingers digging in, teeth nibbling that exquisite neck.

"Yours," Crowley agreed, breathing laboured. "Good-thing-I'm-so...bendy," He rose, to his knees, the angel's cock slipping out of him until just the tip connected them, and then fell back down, impaling himself as deeply as he could.

Aziraphale felt the demon's thighs strain as he lifted himself, hammering back down for another spike of pleasure.

Crowley clamped one hand down on Aziraphale's shoulder, heavily for balance. His other hand curled around his own cock, and goodness, Aziraphale's bleary brain noted, he was so rough with it, pulling impatiently at himself, his fingers threading through the dark red curls, moving so rapidly it must have bordered on painful.

He tried to reach down, to help, but Crowley batted his hand away.

All this pressure, this heat, the roughness of Crowley's jaw, the softness of his thighs, Aziraphale was touched, felt touched, had never been so touched in his life. Sensations swept him up in a twisting sea that must have flooded the room because the sofa was shaking, the lightbulb overhead was swinging and there was a pressure building up inside him, a warmth, a coiling spring that needed to uncoil and then he was falling, unanchored and drifting, with nothing to cling to but Crowley's body.

A few minutes must have passed because when he opened his eyes, Crowley was zipping up his jeans, his boots were already on. Aziraphale didn't feel sticky, well,a bit sweaty, so Crowley must have used a miracle.

He felt horribly underdressed so hurriedly tucked himself back into his trousers.

"So," Crowley said. He was struggling with the buttons on his shirt now and almost seemed afraid to meet Aziraphale's eye. "I'll let myself out then? Do you want me to flip the sign back?"

"Uh…" He wasn't usually the one so incoherent but Crowley's clever body appeared to have him at a loss for words. "You...you intend to walk out of here like nothing happened? Really, Crowley?"

Crowley abandoned his shirt, staring at him with his mouth agape. Guiltily, Aziraphale clocked sight of the bite marks littering Crowley's neck. He wondered why he hadn't miracled them away. "Seriously? You're the one who wanted a casual thing! After all, you're the one who propositioned me!"

He had the distinct impression he was missing something. A ticking in his brain but no tock. What did Crowley mean? "I propositioned you? How? Was it my come-hither eyes?" he scoffed.

"You told me you wanted a booty call. So I delivered. You don't need to be so coy, not with me, angel," Crowley seemed like he was going to carry on in that tiresome vein, but then he caught sight of the befuddlement on Aziraphale's face and stared. "Wait, hangt on, you do know what a booty call is? Right? Right?"

It was a strange question but he answered it anyway. "Y- yes, it's when you accidentally phone someone-"

Crowley dropped to a crouch so quickly that Aziraphale sat forward, alarmed. It rather reminded him of one period in the 1800s where Crowley made the mistake of presenting female, and a tightly-laced corset had sent him into a swoon. Aziraphale still remembered the stench of the smelling salts he'd had to hold under the demon's nose.

"You're not fainting, are you? Crowley!" 

But Crowley was moaning, his hands clasped over his eyes. "You thought a booty call was - right, so I've come here running, made a complete cock-up of the whole thing - _fuck-_"

"Language! Crowley, I don't know why you're being so dramatic. I had a rather lovely time. Wonderful actually," Crowley dropped his hands to the floor and looked up at him, which Aziraphale took as an encouraging sign. What he wanted to say next seemed too candid to declare, so he let his voice drop to a whisper. "In fact, I'd always hoped - dreamed - that something of this nature would develop between us. But I never knew how to...ask. But with you...I wouldn't want something casual. I'd want more than that."

Aziraphale wondered if he looked at dazed as Crowley did.

"Right," Crowley said, and to Aziraphale's delight, one of those rare little smiles of his made an appearance. "In that case I'm going to need to show you how to use that bloody phone. Maybe teach you sexting, while I'm at it."


End file.
